


How A Ginger's Heart Got Stolen

by Tokiji



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Had so much fun writing this!, Miraculousadrienette-ladynoir, Mlsecretsanta 2k16, winter stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9050035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokiji/pseuds/Tokiji
Summary: Nathanaël hadn't seen the harm of letting an almost-stranger into his house during a storm until his guest stole something from him.Well, not that he was complaining. The girl in pigtails could have it as long as she wanted it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For miraculousadrienette-ladynoir. Merry Christmas! Thank you mlsecretsanta for giving us this experience!

Nathanaël wasn’t in the mood for this.

 

Which was odd, because he  _ loved _ drawing. He’d draw during a lecture in class, he’d draw while the gym teacher was occupied with other students, he’d draw when it was time for lunch and more often than not would even forget to eat altogether. Art was everything to him; it gave him something to do.

 

Now though, his mind was blank. He held his pencil and absentmindedly swiped it over his paper, back and forth, back and forth, the lead never touching its surface. He shivered and pulled at his sleeves until his knuckles were given solitude from the chilling weather, only his long fingers being prisoner to the air. Shaking his head and groaning, he dropped his pencil. This was pointless.

 

It was rare for him to be so empty of thought. He was, as his teachers and dumb horoscopes had told him, a dreamer. Which meant that ideas always flowed through even when they weren’t needed, even when it got him a spotless notebook in return for beautiful designs in his sketchbook. So, when the coldest of winter arrived at his dark windows, he was stunned to boredom for not being himself.

 

Nathanaël skidded his chair back and stood, only sparing a glance at his stacks of papers before he fell face-first onto his bed. A blanket of silk greeted him in earnest, but like most nights, he didn’t feel any warmth. December only made the ice that seemed to hang around his room every day that much worse. He hated this month, not just for the cold, but for everything that it took away from him.

 

And on that second, it was his creativity. A view filled with snow and dark skies did nothing to boost his inspiration.

 

He was about to turn on his TV when a loud  _ ding-dong _ interrupted him. He furrowed his brows. Was it his mother?

 

Joy momentarily filled his chest. He threw on a thick jacket before bolting out of his room, taking the stairs two at a time. “Hey, mom!” He cheered as he swung open the house’s big double-doors.

 

But instead of a tall, frail young woman woman, out on his porch was a girl. She was petite, a pink dress adorning her figure, with boots and gloves almost as white as the snow around them. Her scarf was a bit darker, matching the blush splashed across her freckled cheek. Hair as dark as the night sky, with the moon making half of the strands look brighter, stood his schoolmate - Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

 

She blinked while his smile dropped.

 

“Um, hello,” Marinette said weakly. “I have a delivery for Monsieur Flinn?” She daintily held up a brown paper bag that she had been carrying, with a logo of a bakery that Nathanaël was very much familiar with. The smell of fresh bread and butter invaded his nose, delicious and tempting.

 

Nathanaël swallowed back his disappointment and hunger before answering, “I think you have the wrong address, Marinette. Monsieur Flinn lives a few blocks down.”

 

“What?” Quickly, the girl scrambled for her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Her blue eyes scanned its writing before a loud groan escaped her throat. “Oh gosh, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

He shuffled from foot to foot, not really knowing what to say or how to talk to her. They went to the same school, they studied in the same building, but they’ve never talked to each other before. He just occasionally saw her in the hallways, either tripping over her shoelace or sketching. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t curious every so often, because her doodles of various clothes were very artistic.

 

Eventually, Marinette looked up at him sheepishly. “Err, your name’s Nath, right?”

 

He nodded. “Nathanaël, yeah.”

 

The corners of her mouth moved upwards, and the bridge of her nose scrunched up ever so slightly with her smile that Nathanaël couldn’t help but think that she was quite cute. He tried to hide his reddening cheeks by ducking his head. He noticed that she was about to say something when a gust of wind blew over them, making her scarf flap wildly around her and smacking her in the face. She yelped and fought with the fabric until the wind subsided.

 

She moaned in embarrassment while Nathanaël snickered. When her eyes met his sharply, he pointedly shut his mouth, but even with his hand over his lips, he couldn’t stop the growing laugh that threatened to escape. He knew it was rude, but after a glare from Marinette and another pathetic snort, he released his loud guffaw into the night.

 

Marinette scoffed and whipped her bangs out of her face. “It’s not funny, Nathanaël!” She exclaimed, exasperated. He tried to respond, but it only resulted in him spluttering and laughing again. She kept her pout a bit longer before she too let out a giggle, if not a bit shy, but it erupted into something bigger, nearly matching the boy’s uncontrollable chuckle.

 

They stayed like that for a minute, just looking at each other and wiping their eyes from hysterical tears and trying to calm their laughter. Marinette’s smile grew even more radiant. Nathanaël couldn’t help but stare.

 

Out of the blue, a buzz interrupted them. Marinette fished out her phone from her pocket, murmured a quick apology to her friend, and answered the call. “Yes, hello? Oh, Monsieur Flinn! Yes, I… oh.” Marinette’s voice trailed off. “Ah, but I’m already on my way… no, there’s no storm… i-is that so? Well, okay, if you insist. Yes, yes, have a good evening, Monsieur Flinn.” With a soft sigh, she put her phone back in place.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Oh, he cancelled the order,” she explained sadly. “He told me that there was a storm in his neighborhood and that I should hurry home. But the weather isn’t very-”

 

Just then, another round of freezing wind, this time stronger than the first, swept over them, nearly tipping them off their feet. It didn’t subside, however. Nathanaël quickly ushered her into his home before slamming the door shut and locking it firmly for good measure.

 

He sighed and looked at Marinette who was visibly shaking. He noticed that the snow had damped her scarf, and her hair held droplets of water, some already dripping down the bridge of her nose. He held out his hand to her and said, “Well, a storm really  _ is  _ going down right now, and it’s way too bad for you to walk home. I can dry your scarf first. If, uh…” He gulped, abruptly feeling shy under her gaze. “If you want to, that is.”

 

She blinked at him, slow and uncertain, but it was followed by a petite smile. His heart stuttered in his chest, which was weird because… well, it was  _ weird _ . He wondered if it was due to the cold or something, but brushed it off as he led her down the corridor. They stopped at a big room that held a few couches, a coffee table, and a cozy fireplace. A couple of tall bookshelves stood at the far end, dusty with age, but Marinette seemed to find it impressive.

 

He got the fire going as soon as they entered, relishing the heat. He hung his friend’s scarf over the back of a chair and brought it a bit closer to the fireplace. “Do you need anything?” He asked politely, swiveling his head around only to find that the dark-haired girl had opened up a particular book. He recognized it as one of his old fairy tale books. She fingered the pages delicately, eyes dancing in wonder.

 

“It’s in English,” she murmured. “Did you really read this when you were a kid?”

 

He walked over to her, his steps heavy with echoes, and he leaned his back against the wall beside the bookshelf. He looked at her face, then the book, and finally the floor. “My dad read it to me.”

 

“Oh.” She closed the book slowly and silently. “You sound sad, though. Did I…?”

 

“No, no.” He ran his hand through his long hair and puffed out a breath. “It’s just that my… my dad, he um, passed away.” He didn’t know why a snort could have helped the situation, but he still did it anyway.

 

Marinette was horrified. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know.” She slid the storybook back into place, if not overly gentle.

 

“It’s okay. It’s been a few years.” In fact, it’s been so long that he lost count of the many years that had gone by. He barely remembered him, honestly. He just knew that he got his fiery color from him, and that he was an extraordinary storyteller. He could recall the funny way his voice would dip to imitate an evil wizard, or how he would tickle his stomach while telling him that the hungry werewolves were out to get him. Those were fun nights, he thought bitterly, but he still let himself be happy at the limited memory.

 

Marinette tugged at his sleeve. “Wanna sit down?”

 

Again, he was lost staring at her face. She was half Asian, he knew, but he still found her features to be incredibly beautiful. Her eyes were big and blue, a little worried too, and her mouth was small and pursed. His heart did that strange flutter once more, leaving him dizzy and breathless. When she repeated her question, he could only nod and let her pull him down in front of the fireplace.

 

He watched as she extended her arms out to the crackling flames, the way orange and yellow danced across her light skin, and how she was shivering a bit. She must be cold, he thought, and he unconsciously started to peel off his jacket. He offered the garment to her, which surprised and flustered her. “No, I can’t,” she squeaked. “You have thinner clothes than me. You should wear it.”

 

“I’m used to the cold.” Again, he pushed the jacket into her hands. “Please. I insist.”

 

She was perplexed at first, clearly unsure, but Nathanaël didn’t give her a chance to protest as he brought his clothing over her shoulders. “There, you look pretty.” He grinned. And then blushed.

 

Marinette also had a wide splash of red decorating her cheeks.

 

He spluttered and rambled, with most of his sentences uncatchable and jumbled up. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean - I mean, you  _ are  _ pretty but I didn’t mean it in a weird way unless you thinking me giving you jacket ah, err, no, I uhh -”

 

“Okay, time out.” Marinette giggled but quickly caught herself. Her grin didn’t disappear, neither did her flush, but the combination of amusement and humor only furthered his fussing. She in turn laughed again, this time bringing her hands up to pinch both of his cheeks until he whimpered. She was completely unabashed as she tilted his head right to left, only snickering when he groaned in protest. His own hands grabbed her wrists and she yelped. “Cold!” She cried.

 

“Your fault for assaulting me.” Nath stuck out his tongue indignantly. He tried to pry her fingers away from his flesh, but the girl had a grip of steel.

 

“It made you stop talking, though!” She gave one last squeeze before releasing him, a new shade of red staining his pale skin where she had grabbed him. “There, now you have some healthy color!”

 

“Whatever, Mar.” He rolled his eyes, but try as he might, his damned smile was unshakable. And when she too showed off her pearly whites, he merely sat back and gazed down at her, eyes softening into something so tender, so full of endearment, that even he himself found it alien.

 

Marinette tucked her dark hair behind her ear, a somewhat self-conscious move, and proceeded to watch the flames crackle over the wood. After a minute, she asked, “Is there anybody here besides us?”

 

“My mom is in the hospital.” Nathanaël lifted a hasty hand at her bulging eyes. “No, no, she  _ works _ in the hospital. As a nurse. She’s there most of the time, so I don’t see her home very much.”

 

“Oh,” Marinette murmured. “That’s… that’s a little sad. Aren’t you lonely?”

 

He shrugged while twirling a loose piece of string from his sweater idly. He chose to remain silent.

 

Marinette frowned. “I’m sorry.”

 

“You say ‘sorry’ a lot. You don't have to.”

 

“Yeah. But I  _ am  _ sorry.” She gently nudged him with her shoulder. “You can come over to my class anytime you want, you know. Just to, I don’t know, chat or something. I’m usually there doodling or bickering with Chloe -”

 

“Wait, the  _ mayor’s daughter _ !?”

 

“- and if you want to stop by, I’d be more than happy to talk.”

 

He examined her expression, but nothing gave the impression that she was just giving a half-hearted friendship. No, Marinette was completely genuine in her offer. He gulped, the thundering of his heart matching the horrendous storm outside his window.

 

“I’d…” He blinked stupidly. “I’d like that.”

 

She nodded, hands pulling the jacket over her tighter and more secure.

 

The silence that hovered over them was comfortable, more so with the sounds of wind and fire mingling together to create a sort of ancient song that nobody knew. It was relaxing, but Nathanaël still found himself wanting a conversation. “I really like your designs,” he said. “Of, you know, clothes and stuff. They’re beautiful.”

 

“Oh, well, thank you.” Marinette pulled at her hair, flattered. “But yours are way better.”

 

“You noticed me drawing, too?”

 

“I mean, yeah. I see you from time to time, just sort of hunched over a sketchbook and focused on this piece you’re making - it’s cool.” Something sparked within her and she abruptly turned to face him. “Hey, can you show me some of your work? I really think that your sketches are pretty awesome. I wanna see more!”

 

In all honesty, the words that she had just spoken were innocent and completely normal, but to him, it was the most embarrassing thing that had happened between them that evening. He wasn’t ashamed of his drawings per se, rather that  _ Marinette  _ was the one who wanted to take a look at them. Though, his head tried to reason that Marinette was just another curious person and no one special in particular. She wasn’t a critique in disguise, she wasn’t the mayor’s daughter, so why be flustered about it? Although his mind kept conjuring up facts and logic, his chest still threatened to burst by how hard his heart was hammering. He legit considered calling his mother to ask for some medical treatment, but that would be rude to his guest. He wasn’t gonna die or anything. Right?

 

He puffed out a cold breath as he watched Marinette, both of them now huddled in his room upstairs, shuffling through his illustrations. He had just plucked out the first sketchbook from his table and handed it to her, too nervous to remember what the book actually had inside. Well, whether they were his best works or not, Marinette seemed thrilled with them. Her blue eyes danced excitedly over every page, taking in each delicate line of charcoal with a hint of awe. Nathanaël merely ducked his head and prayed that his long hair would cover up his creeping blush.

 

“They’re so cool, Nath,” Marinette breathed. “Seeing these makes me wish I could draw more stuff besides fashion.”

 

“Oh, come on.” He snorted. “Your designs are great as they are. I can’t draw a proper pair of shoes to save my life.”

 

Marinette giggled. “You have a knack for drawing hands and expressions, though. I love this one.” She pointed to a section where he had drawn one of his pouting aunts during a party a few weeks ago. He smiled down at it.

 

She flipped a few more pages until she stopped and gasped. Her eyes blew open and her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, a light shade of pink decorating her cheeks. Nathanaël furrowed his brows and walked over and was about to ask what the problem was when he caught sight of the drawing before them.

 

His blood ran instantly cold.

 

Displayed proudly over the paper was a series of drawings of a certain pigtailed girl. A few focused more on her face and the emotions that it represented, a couple more of her standing and even one of her in the midst of tripping.

 

He had forgotten about this spur-of-the-moment doodle for a while now, but since it was shoved over to him again in an utterly awkward situation, he figured that it must have been strange for him to draw random schoolmates without them noticing. Granted, he sketched tourists loitering around the Eiffel Tower quite often just to study their anatomy, but somehow drawing Marinette gave off a sudden sense of weirdness. And now that the object of his art was  _ right there _ looking at his drawing, he didn’t know what to think.

 

Marinette was the first to stop his train of thought. “Do I really make this sort of face before I fall down?” She inquired.

 

Nathanaël must have accidentally swallowed his tongue because he was having trouble forming coherent words.

 

She laughed, soft and gentle, and gave him back his book. “I like them.  _ All _ of them.”

 

He stared at her stupidly, his brain almost literally shutting down. “I umm… you don’t, I-I mean… find it strange?”

 

“If this is about that drawing of me,” she started slowly. “I thought it was beautiful.”

 

And then, out of the blue, the sound of a phone beeping made them both jump. Marinette fumbled and fished it out from her pocket, nearly dropping it in the middle of her haste. Once it was securely wrapped around her fingers, she nodded in apology and answered the call. “Hello? Papa?” She said. “I’m okay, I’m at a friend’s house right now. No, I’m not too cold. The storm… oh, really?” She scampered off to the far end of the room and pulled aside his curtains. The sky outside was bright with blue. “Yes, yes, I’ll be home soon. Okay. See you and mama in a bit. Love you too.”

 

She moved swiftly to the coffee table where she picked up her bag of sweets off the surface and proceeded to stand in front of a paralyzed Nathanaël. A little flushed, she grabbed his hand and dropped her goodies onto his open palm. “They aren’t warm anymore, but I really hope these are enough.” She smiled. “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

 

Nathanaël blinked at her before his gaze shifted to the pastries. They still held the buttery smell. “I’ll pay you later if that’s o-”

 

“They’re free,” she insisted. “It’s the least I can do.” When she saw that he was about to protest, she shushed him. “Just think of it as a gift from a friend. Besides,” She shrugged off his jacket and handed it to him, “you froze your butt off just to save mine. Now we’re even.”

 

He let out a scoff, short and filled with wonder. “Thank you.” He looked at her, _ truly  _ looked at her, and found himself melting despite the chilly temperature. She was, as true as how the Earth spun, utterly beautiful. His eyes couldn’t stop following her, he found, even after he led her through the threshold and out the front door. He managed a crooked smile and a wave. “Have a safe trip home,” he murmured. He caught himself feeling a bit sad at her departure.

 

Marinette nodded and gave him a cheery goodbye. She was halfway down the steps before she stopped, as if she had forgotten something, and turned around.

 

And then, with the words that spilled out her mouth, so sweet and ringing out all around him, he realized something. With the way she stretched her arm in the air to give him one more wave over her shoulder, and the way she grinned, and the way she nearly slipped on a sheet of ice, he couldn’t stop himself from clutching his sweater, right at the place where his thundering heart would be.

 

_ “I hope we’ll be classmates next year!” _

 

Nathanaël leaned back against the wall, still watching the now empty streets, and let out a shaky breath that billowed into white. He’d finally found something out that evening.

 

He was a helpless teenager falling in love.


End file.
